Thanksgiving, 2012
by Aeria
Summary: Kurt/Blaine super-fluffy-smut. A snowstorm threatens to keep Kurt and Blaine apart over the Thanksgiving weekend.


Fic: Thanksgiving, 2012  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: A snowstorm threatens to keep Kurt and Blaine apart over the Thanksgiving weekend.  
Words: 5900  
Spoilers: None  
A/N: Posted the first half of this last night on tumblr and now here it is in it's entirety. This is indulgent, ridiculously fluffy, feelingy stuff. Kind of my last hurrah at living in a happy place with canon, just in case shit goes down in the finale. This really is just…indulgent.

* * *

Burt doesn't find the note until just before midday. It's Thanksgiving and the house is quiet and he and Carole can't quite decide whether that's a good thing or not so they lay in bed until they choose not to. Drink coffee and eat toast and let the drone of the television fill the house. Then Carole starts to cook and sing quietly to herself and Burt tries to help but just gets in the way.

He misses the noise. Not just Kurt and Finn but Rachel and Blaine and the random assortment of friends passing through the house on any given day. It's been so quiet for so long. Burt ends up on the front doorstep, surveying the empty street and wondering when Blaine will show up and it's only when he looks down that he sees it.

Tearing open the envelope he already knows it's from Blaine and he's worried because how can this, after everything, be good? He reads the hurriedly-written note twice to himself and then goes back into the house to read it to Carole.

_Dear Burt and Carole, _

_Don't get mad. I thought about this a lot last night and it's the right thing to do. It's kind of the only thing to do. I'm going to New York, I've left early and I'll be careful and stop if I need to. Don't tell Kurt. I might not make it all the way tonight and I don't want him to stress any more than he is. Thank you so much for inviting me over for lunch today even though I'm not really family yet and Kurt's stuck in New York. I can't not see him though, not when I've been promising myself I would. _

_Happy Thanksgiving, we'll skype you when I arrive, _

_Blaine. _

Carole stares when Burt finishes reading, torn between worry and being happy that everything is right in the world again. Or almost, at least. There's hope and a hundred cliché movie reunions flicking through her mind. "It's too far for one day," is all she says.

Burt nods and slides his phone from his pocket. He's not surprised when it rings through to Blaine's voice mail and he leaves a quick message asking Blaine to call them back next time he stops. "We can't make him come back." A pause. "He's probably already half way there."

Sighing, Carole cracks the oven open and slips another tray inside. There is so much food. "Do you want to make him come back?"

"If anything happens to that boy—"

Carole cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "He was devastated last night. I told him and he said two words and hung up but we both know how badly he was counting on this. That snowstorm blew in from nowhere and Kurt's right: there's no other way out of New York on this kind of notice. And it's a month until Christmas."

"The drive has got to be ten hours, Carole." Another thought occurs: "And where's he gonna stay if he does need to stop? He's underage and driving into a snowstorm on Thanksgiving."

Carole shrugs and tries to smile. If…_when_…Blaine makes it, it will be fantastic. They two boys will skype them and smile and look happy and relaxed like they haven't for months. And then she'll bundle Burt off to watch a movie and leave the boys to their own devices. But for now, Blaine's somewhere, on his own. "He's smart, Burt, he's not going to do anything to jeopardise Kurt's happiness. And that includes risking his own life."

"You sure about that?" Burt asks, turning his phone in his palm, willing it to ring.

"I'm sure you'll explain it to him," she soothes.

"You know if his parents—"

Carole clicks her tongue and gives him a hard look. "His parents don't though, so it's up to us."

They watch each other, wondering what they can possibly do to make this better but knowing there's nothing.

When Blaine finally rings them back it's just as they're sitting down at the too-big table with a spread fit to feed a family of eight. Burt takes the call on speaker and it's quick and direct.

Blaine, if nothing else, sounds determined and awake and aware. He pre-empts every warning Burt can think to voice, every piece of advice. He swears he has stopped every two hours to walk and is drinking lots of water and he promises, over and over, that if he starts to get tired he'll pull over. If it's late he'll find a motel and get a room. Burt offers to pay but Blaine's planned for it and has the cash and brushes off the offer.

He's blasting showtunes and the Top 40 and singing loudly to himself as the miles click by. He doesn't say so but everyone knows he plans to make New York tonight. The storm's blown itself out mostly. Flights are still cancelled and traffic is still struggling but Blaine hopes and they can hear it in his voice.

He says thanks again and a quick goodbye and then he's gone. The food's getting cold but Burt and Carole decide to skype New York anyway. It's Rachel and Finn and a sour-looking Kurt, bundled in blankets and sitting on the floor of someone's dorm room drinking coffee out of mismatched mugs.

They chat and laugh and Kurt keeps dragging the conversation back to the storm and the cancelled flight and he says sorry again and again but mostly sounds sorry for himself. The trains are booked out, predictably, but he might be able to get a seat on a bus late on Friday night and be back for Saturday dinner. Carole and Burt exchange a look but don't say anything until later when Kurt asks where Blaine is.

And then, all they say is that Blaine is planning something special since weather has intervened and Kurt should simply be patient. For the briefest of seconds Kurt perks up, eyes bright blue and a smile at his lips and then he remembers the distance and goes back to pouting once more.

The food is well and truly cold by the time they end the call but, Burt argues, leftover turkey sandwiches are the best thing about Thanksgiving anyway.

* * *

A little after seven that night Rachel's phone buzzes and even with half a bottle of wine in her she has the intelligence to slip into the hallway before she answers. "Blaine! Oh my god, where have you been? Kurt's been pining all day and this really isn't the day to stop taking his calls. I mean, really, I know it's hard, you not being in New York like Finn and I, but it's hard for him, too. And the weather's not anyone's fault and to have ignored his calls. Ignored the fact that he wasn't even really calling that much! Have you lost your mind?" She's too loud and then completely silent because she can hear Blaine laughing and she'd thought he was holed up somewhere being miserable like Kurt and he's not, he sounds…happy. "Blaine?"

He sighs and sounds breathless and she can hear people in the background and then he asks her: "Where can I park my car?"

She's heard wrong, surely. "What?"

"If I have my car and I'm in New York, where can I park it that won't cost me a fortune? Any ideas? This is the one thing I didn't really have planned out when I left and now I'm kind of…almost here…there."

"You're…you're coming here? Are you fucking kidding me!" Rachel Berry does not usually swear but New York is teaching her and this is... "Blaine!" she almost squeals and then she's moving down the hall because even she can tell she's being loud.

"Rachel!" it's singsong and playful back.

"You drove to New York?"

There's a pause. "Yes. Now where can I put my car and tell me Kurt's roommate managed to get out of town before the storm and then go back in there and stall!"

Rachel giggles and waves frantically at Finn who's leaning out of Kurt's dorm room and staring at her with his usual confused expression. He ducks back inside.

"You can't park anywhere during Thanksgiving. And the streets are still a mess because of the snow. Oh my god!"

On the other end of the line, Blaine stretches back in his seat and pulls the phone away from his ear.

Rachel's still talking a hundred miles a minute though. "I've got a friend out in Newark. He's a…oh it doesn't matter! He has a car but he drove upstate so there must be space. Where are you now? And traffic shouldn't be too terrible getting there."

Ten minutes later, Blaine owes a guy by the name of Narson Bradford big time, has directions for another hour of driving and the promise of further instruction by SMS.

By nine he's pulled two coats on and an extra pair of socks and he's sitting bewildered and exhausted in the corner of a train carriage. He calls Burt for the fifth time that day and apologizes for calling late and then tells him he's there and Rachel's meeting him at Penn Station and he'll make sure to call tomorrow morning. And he's sorry and he's thankful and he'll never do anything so stupid as drive ten hours in one day again except it will be so, so worth it this time, he knows. And Burt just chuckles and fights back the need to tell Blaine he's proud of him because that's the wrong thing to say so instead he says 'Good luck.'

* * *

Rachel meets him at the station and wraps him up in completely over the top tears and laughter and a ridiculous hug that tries to take in too much clothing and boy and they're both so excited.

There's a quick ride on the subway and Rachel talks and bubbles and then they're walking fast out onto the streets and through the lightly falling snow and Blaine has no idea where he's going because he keeps looking up at grey clouds and skyscrapers and too many street lights. Then Rachel's grabbing his hand and babbling some more and he's on campus, crossing a quad and down a side street and his back aches and there's the dull throb of a headache and a neck-ache and his shoulders are too tight and he's starving.

Another street and Rachel's fiddling with keys and a keycard and then shaking snow off and brushing at Blaine's shoulders. Her phone's out and they meet Finn on the second flight of stairs.

But Blaine can see past him, down the hall, quiet and closed doors and he can't stop swallowing or blinking because Kurt's that close. Finn says something by way of greeting and pulls Blaine into a hug, making him jolt and hug back.

"You're insane, you know that?" Finn says, but he's happy for them, obviously.

Then they just stand there. Seconds dragging, the persistent, omnipresent sounds of the New York streets outside cluttering Blaine's brain.

_He's in New York. _

"It's room 409," Rachel says, pointing and smiling and Kurt's right there. Twenty meters up the hall, behind a door.

"He doesn't know?" Blaine asks and he's nervous, why is he nervous?

Rachel barely holds in a squeal and nods. "He's been a grump all day, too. But his face when you turn up! The look he'll have on his face!" Finn coughs and Rachel calms. "But we're going back to Finn's dorm now. We'll take you for brunch tomorrow. Or lunch. Just…oh my god, just go and make him happy." She's gone high pitched again.

One of Finn's hands finds Rachel's and then Finn punches Blaine lightly in the shoulder and smiles at him fondly. "It's good to see you bro."

It's a gentle push into the hall and by the time Blaine's turned they're both half way down the stairs and then out of site.

Room 409. Dark wood, light spilling out from the gap at the bottom. There's a peephole and Blaine wonders if Kurt will use it. Then he knocks and waits.

Listens so carefully to the soft music and then the sound of movement, perhaps a grumble—_Kurt. _

Blaine's holding his breath and grinning and waiting these last few seconds of separation. And they've talked every day, haven't lost contact, haven't missed much of each other's lives with skype and endless text messages. But Blaine wants his boyfriend back under his hands, up against him. Wants to smell him and touch him all over and feel him there, solid and hot and real.

The door is pulled open and there's half a sentence uttered before it dies away on Kurt's perfect mouth. "I told you to take a key—"

And then he doesn't say a single thing because they meet half way and they're kissing and pressing and time stops for just that one moment. At 9.48 pm on Thanksgiving, 2012.

They manage to maneuverer back into the room without even thinking about it. The ubiquitous press of Blaine against Kurt's body, his hands up Kurt's side, the weight of Blaine more sure of reality than Kurt is and Kurt just gives in, stumbles back until he hears the door slam and can feel his knees giving out and his fingers digging into Blaine's arms. He sinks and Blaine goes with him, not quite ready to relent on the hard press of lips to lips, tongues wet and dragging hotly between.

They're both on their knees, surging against each other when Kurt finally pulls back, bewildered and amazed and breathless. Blaine's still there, solid and sweaty and pink-cheeked and grinning like a fool, his lips kissed red and slick and his eyes burning bright.

"Hi," Kurt breathes.

"Hi."

Kurt swallows the rasp of his voice and sinks back to survey, to take in the jackets and wet shoulders and the heavy backpack and shoes and start tugging with his hands to get Blaine free. "You're um…you're in New York," he mumbles in between kisses.

Blaine laughs and lets the pack slide off his back and onto the carpet and is nodding when he leans forward again to capture Kurt's mouth and kiss him again, deep and hot. "So are you," he mumbles when he pulls back, making Kurt flush just with the way Blaine's eyes are racing over him, over the tight black jeans and the simple blue Henley. The grey socks without shoes and the shorter-than-ever hair.

Both Blaine's hands run over Kurt's body once in two long, soft lines. Over calves and thighs and hips and chest, down Kurt's arms to interlace with his fingers before dragging back up to his cheeks to cradle his face and let him lean into the touch. "I couldn't—" Blaine's voice cracks and the devastation he'd felt the night before—god was it really just last night—when Carole had called to say Kurt couldn't get out of New York floods back but when he squeezes his eyes shut and then opens the, Kurt's there.

"How?" Kurt's eyelashes flutter and he sighs and Blaine has to steel himself just to pull back, just a few meters so he can stand and roll his shoulders. Kurt stays on the ground, legs long and folded beneath him, well-worn fabric fitting him too-snuggly.

Crossing to the door, Blaine turns the lock and bolts it for the night. He tries to survey the room Kurt's only ever shown him through a webcam and photos but he keeps looking back at Kurt, sitting there, staring. "I drove. I got up this morning before six and I packed a bag and grabbed all the money I could find around the house and then I got in the car and just kept driving."

Kurt knows how far it is. He's looked at buses and trains and planes and tried to find a way to get home for a weekend before. "Does my dad—"

Blaine laughs as he shrugs off a coat and then tugs the next layer over his head. He doesn't see Kurt's eyes widen at the strip of exposed belly but he hears the gasp and it goes straight to his groin. "I left him a note. They wanted me over there today even though you weren't home—"

"Of course they did."

"And he rang me and was…he didn't say I shouldn't go, he just wanted me to be safe."

"It's a stupid trip to make in one day."

Blaine toes his shoes off and prays his feet don't stink up the room. "But I did and now I'm here." He can feel the sweat dried down his back and the grime of a day sitting sticking to his skin and he's oscillating between exhausted and adrenaline-fueled buzzing. Mostly he just wants to wrap his arms around Kurt and never let go again.

But he can't take off his socks because his feet feel gross and the last thing he wants to do is make Kurt's face scrunch up because so far this has been _perfect_.

"How long are you here?" Kurt asks after a too-long pause, sliding gracefully to his feet and righting Blaine's bag, leaving it leaning against the foot of a bed…Kurt's bed.

Blinking slowly, Blaine realizes he doesn't know. "It's Thursday," he says and his mind feels heavy suddenly, the dull ache coming back as he tries to think beyond now and possibly a shower. "Sunday, at the earliest, I guess."

He can see Kurt swallow and he knows why: This is time together. Nothing else, just them. Lots of them. Then Kurt smiles and his cheeks flush and his eyes dart to the floor. "You're crazy," he mutters under his breath.

Blaine would have a smart comeback but Kurt's against him again, stepping forward until the tips of his sock-covered toes are touching Blaine's and kissing him slowly. Nuzzling and playing, dipping his head to touch lips quickly and then pull back and make Blaine follow. Leaning forward and rocking his whole body in to press against Blaine's as his tongue flicks out across Blaine's lips, sucking and nipping until Blaine's hands are at Kurt's wait and then sliding to his ass and grasping as the kiss turns hot and deep and Blaine moans into it.

And then he pulls back, avoids Kurt's lips and his eyes and just lets his face bury into the crook of Kurt's neck while Kurt laughs at the little sounds of agony leaving Blaine as Kurt rocks against him. Still teasing, but hard and wanting Blaine just as much as Blaine wants him.

"Shower," Blaine mumbles and is dismayed to find his limbs and eyelids heavy when he tries to disentangle himself and open his eyes. He doesn't want to be tired, he wants to be alive and awake and make every second count.

But Kurt can see the fatigue and sits himself on the bed, letting Blaine go. "You're exhausted," Kurt says, seeing it suddenly in the lines of Blaine's body. "And you feel gross." Blaine makes a sound of protest as he rummages in his pack and then pulls back with a toothbrush in his hand. Kurt shushes him though and tries to talk through a wide grin because this could well be the best Thanksgiving ever. "Because you drove half way across the country to be with me."

The smile Blaine gives him is small and tired and Kurt can't quite believe that five minutes ago they were kissing like the world was ending, well on the way to getting off desperately on the carpet and five minutes before that he was pouting and miserable. But Blaine's here and moving and assuming he can borrow Kurt's shampoo and then hovering in the doorway to the bathroom. He swallows once before he speaks. "I couldn't wait. And I still can't wait. And I'm going to really quickly make myself smell nice and then I wanna make you come and then fall asleep with you wrapped around me. Can we do that?"

Kurt would be lying if he said he wasn't instantly half-hard, head swimming because three months ago, Blaine wouldn't have dared to say it across a room and quite so brazenly, wouldn't have demanded it. Maybe he's tired or maybe he realizes the waste of time it would be now, to skirt around the idea. And Kurt's nodding, of course, and wanting and still can't quite believe it.

The door of the bathroom clicks shut and the water starts almost immediately. Kurt can hear Blaine singing and the grin is back in place as he flops back on the bed and pulls out his phone. It's almost ten so he sends a quick text to his dad and then another to Rachel and another to new-Tina who is in his Voice class and has been dying to meet Blaine and is kind of his new second-best friend. Then he toys with the idea of setting an alarm but realizes waking up to the sounds of New York with Blaine asleep against him might be one of the best experiences ever and settles for letting them sleep in.

They have all weekend.

Blaine has stopped singing though and Kurt's started chewing on his bottom lip and fidgeting and he can't remember why he's lying on his bed, a palm pressed to his crotch, waiting. He's half way to the bathroom, face hot and hands clenching because Blaine's there and naked and wanting him and Kurt's going to take him.

He remembers though and turns back to his bed, scrambles and finds the space down the side that his roommate doesn't know about and the half-full tube of lube. His stomach knots to think he could have his fingers inside Blaine tonight, or Blaine's in him, or both.

Kurt whimpers then because they can kiss and rub and touch and then splay and be as close as ever and condoms. He has none, of course he has none, he's got a long-distance boyfriend and why would he? His eyes land on Blaine's pack though and then they light up.

* * *

Blaine jumps a foot in the air when Kurt slides, naked and cold-skinned in behind him. He'd been lost under the spray behind the curtains of steam and hadn't heard the door open or the quiet footsteps approaching. The bathroom is tiny and Kurt hates it but knows it's far superior to having to share with an entire floor. And the water is hot and Blaine is naked so he forgets the ugly tiles and the drab shower curtain before he's even thought about it.

Instead he slides his hands down Blaine fast, keeping Blaine turned away and crowding in against his back, sighing almost in relief at the contact and the instant heat and the perfect fit of his cock against the swell of Blaine's ass. All hard planes and coarse hair and arching against him, moaning his name and eyelids fluttering.

"Kurt."

Kurt will never get tired of the way Blaine says his name. Honest and pure and reverent and now desperate and again.

"Kurt, please…" Blaine's rocking, his hands over Kurt's as they move and trace and then one hand drops and wraps around his already-hard length. "_Kurt…"_

"I miss you so much," Kurt mumbles into his ear, the smell of Kurt's shampoo, his soap and the peppermint of toothpaste making Kurt's heart ache. "I couldn't wait." His hand twists and strokes up the length of Blaine's cock, making Blaine's hand fall away and back, clutching at Kurt's hip, pulling him in so Kurt's cock rubs into the small of Blaine's back and they bother groan. "I couldn't wait," Kurt mumbles again, still stroking, slow and uneven as they both shake with it.

Blaine just whimpers and wills his knees not to buckle as he mumbles out, "Baby," like a plea and then pauses to wonder when he started calling Kurt that.

"I wanted everything…"

Blaine doesn't get it but doesn't care because he's been given the space to turn in Kurt's arms, whine at the loss of Kurt's fingers around him and then lay his hands across the pale, wet expanse of Kurt's chest. Both their gazes dip low, tracking where their hands run, remember old angles and curves and trying to work out if the little differences are imagined or not.

Kurt's voice is broken, thready and breathless. "I wanted all of you even though you're exhausted and—" Blaine cuts him off with his mouth, hips sliding together like two puzzle pieces as Kurt's arms move easily over Blaine's shoulders to lock behind his head as they swallow each other's moans. Kurt pulls back. "I wasn't thinking really but I don't have any condoms and I figured you'd have brought some and—" he gulps and wills Blaine's hands to stop against him because this is important. "I went through your bag, Blaine."

And now Blaine does still, eyes meeting Kurt's and a tremor crossing his bottom lip as his fingers tighten their hold at Kurt's hips and the water makes the only sound in the room. Something is Kurt's expression gives it away and Blaine's scrambling for words and for purchase, needing to explain and quickly because he had a plan, he had a speech, one he has been practicing all day. "Kurt I—"

But Kurt kisses him again, more urgent and hungry and in love than ever, licking into his mouth and moaning once, long and low, as his hips rock forward and Blaine's brain stutters to a stop.

"Shut up," Kurt mumbles, pulling back only to fall forward and kiss him again when he goes to speak. "Shut up and just…just tell me which finger to wear it on. Tell me what it means and I'll take it." He pulls further away but won't let Blaine's hand go where he's laced their fingers together, won't let him pull away. He leans out of the shower, pushes the curtain back and retrieves the silver ring from the shelf above the sink.

He holds it between them and Blaine stares at it like it's the first time he's seen it, like he hasn't been falling asleep some nights with it clutched against his palm. "I…" Blaine stutters. He had a speech but it's left him and he's naked and hard.

Another kiss and Kurt's close again, leaning forward to slick his hair with the water and then kiss Blaine once more. "I'm sorry I found it but I couldn't pretend I hadn't because I want to wear it. However you want me to wear it. If it's a reminder of you or of us or just a nice piece of jewellery. Or if you want to get engaged, right now. Or married. We can get married Blaine, this is New York. Only I kind of had my heart set on a summer wedding and we were a bit older but it doesn't really make any difference and—"

It's Blaine's turn to cut him off with a kiss. Long and smiling before he pulls back and finds the ring caught between Kurt's fingers and takes it from him.

But Kurt isn't finished. "It's doesn't matter Blaine, honestly, you drove ten hours just to see me and I couldn't live without you and we can just be everything for each other. However you want…" he trails off, palms against Blaine's cheeks as he stares.

"You'd say yes if I asked you, right now?" Blaine asks and Kurt nods and then stares around the tiny room and there's just a hint of a line between his eyes. Blaine laughs, "Not quite how you imagined it though," and presses a kiss to Kurt's naked shoulder. Blaine rocks his hips hard and makes Kurt gasp and leans forward to whisper, "And what if I timed it right and asked you right as you came? What kind of an engagement story is that?"

Kurt gasps again as Blaine's hips keep working their cocks together with delicious wet friction and his mind scrambles, his voice low when he asks, "What's the ring for?"

Blaine's lips move up Kurt's neck, mouthing and licking at the water that trails down over the skin. He hums and stills, content to taste and let their hips work on instinct. "It was meant to be a promise ring. Kind of ridiculous, I know," he mumbles. "But I wanted to give you something to get us through the rest of the year. It's only a simple silver thing and I figured you could wear it on a chain or on any finger and not be the mysteriously single guy with an engagement ring—"

"Everyone knows I'm taken," Kurt interrupts.

"Or whatever," Blaine continues. "But it's a promise."

Kurt sighs, content and musical and presses his mouth to Blaine's cheek. "A promise of what, Blaine?"

"Everything," Blaine swallows and kisses back. _Everything_. "To get engaged. And then married. And then two kids—"

"One," Kurt says on a moan as his head falls back and Blaine's mouth moves to his jaw.

"And a medium sized dog."

"Cat."

"And a big expensive apartment with views of central park and a bath big enough for both of us."

"Yes." Blaine doesn't know if Kurt's agreeing or lost in the feel of his mouth and his body. They've talked about all this before but it feels so much more real now.

"There was a proper speech to go with this," Blaine mumbles and licks at the corner of Kurt's lips before kissing him properly. "Tomorrow I'll pretend you don't know about the ring and I'll do it again, like I planned, before you went riffling through my stuff for condoms."

Kurt is almost lost in the feel of Blaine against him, in the promise of everything ahead of them which he's known forever but loves hearing out loud. "Tonight I'm wearing that ring to bed," he says and the metal band slides down his ring finger easily, settling against his skin, hot from Blaine's palm.

There's a happy sigh from Blaine whose own fingers find Kurt's hand and play with the ring, turning it and tracing invisible lines. He feels heavy and hot and ready to burst with it all. And then Kurt's hips rock into his at just the right angle and he can feel every inch of Kurt against him and he moans, "Please…"

They don't need the lube or the condoms or anything really. It's been too long a day and far too long a wait and tomorrow they can do every single thing they want. Revisit tastes and touches and the perfect stretch of being intertwined with another person. But for now, Blaine just needs to come and Kurt can only want to give that to him, to watch it happen and then follow him over.

They grasp at each other, hands tight against muscle as their mouths angle and slide, hot drags and licks as they both moan and plead. "Love you," Kurt mumbles, his hand slipping down between them, wrapping around both their cocks and tightening just enough to make it too much. "Love you so much." Then Kurt opens his eyes and looks from between them up, to the way Blaine's eyelashes flutter against his red-flushed cheeks, mouth pulling away from Kurt's skin as he gasps and groans and goes up on tiptoe, chasing Kurt's touch, chasing release and finding it as his body sharpens, tightens and shakes as he comes across Kurt's hand.

"Love you Blaine, oh god, love you so much," and Kurt works him through it, works his hand around both of them and kisses Blaine's throat between stealing glances down to the already-washing away streaks of come, to the lines of Blaine's body stretched out taut in ecstasy and then loose and rocking back for a second before Blaine surges back forward and kisses Kurt hard, unexpectedly.

Blaine's hand between them, fingers covering Kurt's and squeezing and it's only a stroke before Kurt's coming with a cry that slips too easily into a keen of Blaine's name and his eyes squeeze tight as he sees stars and remembers how much better it is to come with someone else, someone he loves and cherishes and never wants to let go of.

Inevitably they come down from it. Soft kisses exchanged as they wash themselves off completely, standing under the water on unsteady feet. Kurt's only got the one big fluffy towel and they pass it back and forth until they're both dry. When Blaine fits the fabric around his hips and moves to his bag Kurt watches, perched, still-pink from the shower, on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but his ring.

"You should sleep naked," Kurt tells him when it's obvious he plans on putting clothes on. "With me," Kurt adds for clarification.

The old T-shirt Blaine had been holding drops back to the floor and he turns back around; he hadn't even thought and his mind is so fuzzy and he's exhausted again and sated and happy and feels like he could, should, sleep for days. The grin grows slowly and he nods as he moves back towards Kurt, his eyes taking him in. He lets the towel fall when he's standing there, knees knocking Kurt's, small single bed stretched out waiting.

They kiss again until Blaine's breath is so slow he could already be asleep if he wasn't standing, swaying gently as Kurt pulls back. They stand side by side as Kurt shifts the blankets back and throws the extra pillow across the room to the empty space.

It could get awkward, it feels like maybe it should be. Crawling into bed, naked but not for sex, not now. But Blaine's too tired and falls easily against the sheets and snuggles down, not caring that he must look pretty silly to Kurt. Kurt just clicks his tongue and pokes Blaine's feet under the covers properly and then crawls in after him, jostling for space and then turning in his arms and pulling the covers over and around them, cocooning them in for the night.

Finally they settle, Blaine half across Kurt's chest, face in the cross of his neck, one hand under the pillow, the other clasping at Kurt's shoulder, a leg thrown over to hold them closer throughout the night. Kurt's own hands find their spots, one in the centre of Blaine's back, rubbing tiny, quiet circles, and the other resting gently against his hair.

"I'm so glad you came," Kurt breathes, the heat already lulling him to sleep, sated and relaxed and blissfully happy. He's trying to think of things to do over the next few days, adventures to have between being wrapped up in each other. Places to eat, any friends left in New York he can introduce Blaine to. He yawns hard and curls his toes and glances down at the mop of dark curls pressed to him.

"Sweet dreams," he mumbles and his lips curl up and he lets his eyes falls closed as Blaine snores lightly in response and snuggles even closer.


End file.
